New York Minute

[Time passes]

2008-06-10T00:13:00.003-04:00

Time has passed, cuing that scene in the Harry Potter movies where the seasons change from fall to winter to spring with nothing of significance happening in the plot except Hedwig flying across the courtyard. Only in our plot, loads has happened, which accounts for the blog hiatus. I’ve thought about writing many times, but never got around to actually posting. I have a few things I want to write about, but I’ll ease myself in with hit list.
• I wonder how much environmental impact it would have if we started doing little things like not using straws and using mugs instead of paper cups at work.
• Indiana Jones was amusing but definitely not a big-screen must. If you haven’t seen Iron Man, see it. Robert Downey Jr. was made for this.
• I’ve been watching a lot of home design shows. This has two effects: 1. I want a house more than ever and 2. I am increasingly unhappy with how the apartment looks. I can save you hours, days, weeks and even months of watching HGTV by giving you The Secret to all these shows. The Secret is ...ready?... get rid of the clutter. It’s true. Watch any design show. Even if you don’t like the style of the new room, it looks a million times better than the original because there is simply less crud messing it up. Use this knowledge wisely. It may have cost me dearly to divulge it to you. Design on a Dime probably just put a hit out on me.
• Things I love today: photo booth pictures, walks in the woods, birds (especially owls), rainy days at the end of August, grass under my bare feet and mom’s Shredded Wheat bread.

Stuffed

2007-12-20T00:24:00.000-05:00

The gifting season is here, gaining speed like Casey Jones and that runaway train, on the wrong track and headed for you. So put down the cocaine and lets have a civilized discussion about this.

JP sent NYM a link to The Story of Stuff. I've sent it out to some people. It is definitely worth the 20+ minutes of your life. But for the time-challenged, here's the gist: We have been trained to consume, almost at all costs. This consumption-to-trash lifestyle is damaging the planet and people, including ourselves. Solution: Buy less, consume less.

http://www.storyofstuff.com/

So where does that leave us during this time of giving? Give less? Give nothing? Become Scrooge? This is the quandry I find myself in as I tool through Borders, judging whether items are worthy of the people I love. Do we really need more stuff? And why do we depend on stuff to say "I care about you"? Or to make us feel better? How do we break this hold stuff has on us?

One thing is for sure, we can't do it alone. It has to be a decision supported by those near and dear to us. It has to be OK to say "Let's not consume more stuff." A coworker of mine suggested a step-by-step program, such as starting by giving only handmade gifts. I think this sounds swell and I wish I had thought of it earlier. Oh well. There's always next year!

Until next time, wishing you the gift of joy. And sanity.

An Insufferable Truth

2007-11-15T23:34:00.000-05:00

Really alarming news on the rat front, comrades. Apparently they have extended their axis of evil to encompass global warming as an ally.

This from the New York Times, teller of truths:

... a recent stretch of warm winters has reduced the proportion of the rodent population that would normally be eliminated each year by the cold.

The time to fight may be close at hand. I hope you are prepared.

The rat that was circling André Thomas’s feet was big and brazen, measuring more than a foot from the tip of its tail to a pointed snout that arched upward to the aroma of Mr. Thomas’s ham and cheese sandwich.

Good God! Read more of the horror:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/11/10/nyregion/10rats.html

Until next time, stay far, far away from City Hall!

Fairly Young Woman In Front of the Milk Cooler in a Big City

2007-11-05T22:13:00.000-05:00

So my New Year's resolution this year was to try to live a more environmentally-friendly life. When I started out, it was pretty overwhelming. But the resolution was meant to be empowering, not debilitating. So it was onward toward that far-away goal of green, one small step at a time.

I shopped at Whole Foods and bought as much organic as I could. I reused bags. My carbon footprint was already pretty small compared to non-city folk, thanks to the MTA. As our light bulbs blew, we replaced them with the eco-friendly ones. Instead of throwing things out, I gave them away on craigslist. And I became pretty vigilant about recycling (G has the scars to prove it).

But there are many grey areas to green. Case in point, tonight I found myself in front of the milk cooler pondering whether to buy the new brand of organic fat free milk or stick with the Stonyfield organic, even though I'd have to buy 2% because that is all they had. So what should be my priority here? My arteries, which probably don't need 2% fat? The price? The cuteness of the cows featured on the packaging? Honestly, I don't know. But here is how I made the decision: I rolled the cartons onto their sides to see where they were from. Fat-free was California-based. Stonyfield is New Hampshire-based. So I picked Stonyfield, since it probably didn't travel as far, and therefore produced less carbon. Cholesterol be damned.

Until next time, green like you mean it!

Welcome to the Pit of Ultimate Darkness. Please wipe your feet on the mat.

2007-10-31T22:28:00.000-04:00

Good evening, and welcome to the Pit of Ultimate Darkness. Tonight we delve deep into the most sinister, dark, hardly-ever-Swiffered corners of my demented mind to unveil my most recent acts of ... EVIL!

Monday I told G I was going to do the rest of the dishes Tuesday. But I didn't. Evvvil!

Yesterday when I was watching v. important TV (read: Twitches Too) and the DVR asked if I wanted to record South Park, I said no. Eviiil!

Sometimes I sneak dried onion into the food while I'm cooking so G won't know there are onions in it. Eeeeevil!

Often when I should be blogging, I am watching Brotherhood 2.0 on You Tube instead. Evvvil!

And, finally, today I ripped off Kevin MacDonald and Dave Foley. And I didn't even do a very good job of it. Evil!

Until next time, do not avoid the puppies of purgatory! Oh, and ...

NYM’s Top 10 Halloween Movies

2007-10-30T23:11:00.000-04:00

The Halloween spirit has been haunting me for a few weeks now, urging me to do things such as disembowel pumpkins, devour Reese's peanut butter cups, scorch pumpkin seeds and watch any and every non-slasher Halloween on TV—mostly on the Disney Channel. This has had the unfortunate result of watching films such as ... Mom's Got A Date With A Vampire (which really wasn't all that bad). This has also led to repeated viewings of Halloweentown, Halloweentown II and Return to Halloweentown. Somehow I've missed Halloweentown High. Even now, as I write this, I am watching Twitches Too. If you don't know what this means, you're probably better off.

In watching all this fabulous made-for-TV-ness, I've begun longing for certain frightful films, wishing they were part of our DVD collection and scanning the cable listings for them. Alas, I've only found Jack Skellington among my many harrowing heros. But for general consumption this Eve of All Hallow's Eve I give you (trick or perhaps treat) my top 10 Halloween movies. (There's a comments section at the end of this post, so feel free to add on. The criteria: movies cannot be slasher/gore flicks; movies preferably have moments of the funny; movies hold up to repeated viewings.)

10. Arsenic and Old Lace: Mix one part Cary Grant, one part Frank Capra and a healthy helping of a Brooklyn Halloween story. Ha ha ha, I'm the son of a sea-cook!
9. Army of Darkness: The greatest thing Bruce Campbell has ever done. This includes The Adventures of Brisco County Jr. (which were awesome), Xena, Hercules and all the Old Spice commercials.
8. Shaun of the Dead: Generally, I am not a fan of zombies. But this movie KILLS!
7. Beetlejuice: Tim Burton is the King of Halloween. End graf, pick up agate.
6. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets: The list wouldn't be complete without a visit to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Pumpkin juice anyone? (For a kick-ass butterbeer recipe, email me.)
5. The Lost Boys: Both Coreys and Kiefer Sutherland—it's everything that was great about the ’80s that wasn't called "The Goonies."
4. Practical Magic: Here's to sisterhood! With magic! Plus, I totally want that house.
3. Sleepy Hollow: Johnny Depp is soooooo full of awesome. Also, please refer to No. 7.
2. Rocky Horror Picture Show: Ah. I remember the very first time I watched Rocky Horror. It was in the living room. With my Dad. I'm comforted to know he was as uncomfortable with the situation as I was. Nonetheless, Time Warps, mad scientists, monsters brought to life, spooky butlers, this movie has it all. I see you shiver with antici ...
1. The Nightmare Before Christmas: The Pumpkin King comes calling every year about this time. I cannot resist his adorable little skull and boney little fingers. And, of course, see No. 7.

Until tomorrow, everyone hail to the Pumpkin Song! La la la la ...

The dress hunt

2007-10-23T22:49:00.001-04:00

You can never truly be prepared for the rite of the dress hunt. You can study all the forms your prey can take: mermaid, A-line, ball gown, sheath, cocktail, empire, pants suit, suit. You can memorize designers, how many points they have and where to track them. You can plan every last detail, from your tree stand to your 400 square inches of hunting orange. But you'll never know if you are woman enough until you stare that saleswoman in the face and tell her you're not spending any more than two grand on a damn dress you are going to wear for one day in April.

I admit, I hit some low lows while on the trail of the elusive wedding dress. To pass down my hard-earned wisdom and empower my fellow huntresses, I give you my NYC bridal rundown.

NEVER GO TO KLEINFELD. THEY ARE AWFUL PEOPLE WHO PROBABLY EAT BABIES.
Don't go to Kleinfeld if you are a reasonable individual who is not going to spend at least $3,000 (they would prefer more) on a gown. I told them $2,000 and they pretty much shoved me in a closet. Actually, they did shove me in a closet. I was allowed six dresses and, here's the kicker, sent to the back closet to pick them off the rack myself. This is not that kind of store. I was so insulted I almost walked out. The only thing keeping me there was the fact that they had my credit card number and might have charged me for not keeping my appointment. I was in tears—tears— when I left. I called G and told him I could not do this anymore. Later, I met another bride Kleinfeld had made cry. So I'm telling you, they don't deserve your business, even if you are going to drop the operating budget of a small country on your dress. Support the sisterhood and diss Kleinfeld.

FOR THE BRIDE WHO WANTS TO BE TOLD WHAT TO DO, I point you in the direction of the overenthusiastic saleswoman of Designer Loft. She thinks she knows what you want better than you do, even if you have shown up to specifically try on one dress. And don't be surprised if that dress is a size 24 and you are not and you were not told it was that size before you took the time and effort to show up at the store. Yes, I got to try on the dress. Not that I was able to tell much from it. The woman helping me in and out of dresses was great. The saleswoman was manic. She wanted me to try on a drop-waist dress (I looked awful in it and the dresser laughed and agreed with me). She told me I was young and flirty and the dress I wanted to try on was for more "mature" brides. Then she told me the dress would be $1,500, plus $425 for alterations. But she did let me pick a few things out of the closet on my own. And she was friendly, if overbearing. Then again, she was going to fleece me on the dress.

FOR THE BRIDE ON A BUDGET, I can recommend RK Bridal. They had a pretty good collection, even if it wasn't in the greatest condition. They do keep the dresses in bags, but when you have that many people going through a store, there is wear and tear. The saleswoman was really sweet and helpful. They always lay it on thick, but she listened to what I was saying about the dress I liked. In fact, she convinced me to order it even though I wasn't able to try it on in my size(ish) anywhere. She had me try on other dresses by the same maker so I would know what the cut would be like and she assured me that I wouldn't get any surprises from the designer. For the record, my dress would have been $810 at RK. But they charge a flat rate for alterations of $350. So maybe you'd want to get it altered elsewhere? I don't know if they allow that. Eh.

FOR ANY BRIDE WHO WANTS TO BE TREATED WITH RESPECT, I recommend with all my heart Wedding Atelier. Carrie, who owns the store, is fantastic. She runs an extremely clean shop and only the saleswomen touch the gowns, so they are all in great condition. When you come in they ask you to take off your shoes and offer you paper slippers. They say it enhances the spa atmosphere, and it does, but it also keeps all that New York City dirt off the floors, and thus, off the dresses. After the Kleinfeld fiasco I was afraid to tell Carrie my real budget, so we tried on dresses in the $3,000-$5,000 range. During the course of our conversation, I learned that she'll happily work within any budget, so I felt bad that I hadn't been more honest with her. By this time I had pretty much decided to order my dress from a shop in Connecticut (final price $850 and an estimated $150 for alterations) so I sort of knew that I wasn't going to get my dress at Wedding Atelier. Since I had to leave my credit card number for the appointment, I figured I might as well keep it. I am so glad I did. It reaffirmed my faith in the sisterhood and in good business. Carrie listened to everything I had to say and found a few lovely gowns for me to try. Then at the end, she asked me if I would try on one for her, even though it was the kind of gown I wasn't really interested in (mermaid, structured, strapless). I said sure and it was awesome. The gown was $4,200, so buying it was out of the question, but it really did look foxy on me. Carrie was able to find something unexpected for me that looked amazing, and I have every faith that she could do the same for anyone. She carries a wide variety, including some specialty designers. It's just a pleasant shopping experience and I recommend it to any bride-to-be, even if you aren't all that into the hunt (Exhibit A: me).

And so finally, I landed back in Connecticut where the lovely ladies at Delianne's doted on me and ordered my dress, now due in January. So here it is, my 7-point buck, Mon Cheri Victoria 25272:

Until next time, it's open season!

The yin and yang of October

2007-10-22T21:07:00.000-04:00

It's been an up-and-down few weeks. Tony B. lost to the BMX marketing-powered Brock. The Packers lost to the Bears (!). Well, not so much lost to the Bears as beat themselves. Then the Yankees lost in the first round of the playoffs. As if this wasn't enough, Joe left, too. And now, the final insult, the Red Sox are in the Series.

You can see how this weighs a girl's soul down. But we've had some good news, too, at NYM. You see, NYM is a bride-to-be (let's hope not a bridezilla-to-be). This has involved a lot of stress. I don't have the wherewithal to go through all the details right now, since I want to do some yoga before G returns from basketball, but I have ordered a dress and found a photographer in the past few weeks. This means I am almost done with my portion of wedding planning duties! Just a florist and a honeymoon left to plan. And then invitations to make. Yippee!

I want to post a special thank you to all of you who have sent me references and recommendations. In that same spirit I will post a few reviews of experiences I have had, hopefully passing the wisdom on.

But that will be for another night. So until next time, downward dog with me!

Vote for Tony B.!

2007-10-04T23:29:00.000-04:00

I'm asking my loyal readers 2 favors. First, please go to this website
and vote for Tony B., who is awesome.

http://www.sikids.com/2007/sifk/09/24/youthaoy.voting/index.html

The voting ticket is below the magazine cover, so just scroll down.
Click the dot in front of Tony B. and then hit vote.

Then please ask everyone you know to do the same.

This is a grassroots movement to fend off the onslaught of heartless
BMX marketers who are pushing Brock H. on their websites, destroying
Tony's up-until-that-moment sizable lead. So vote! Ask your friends
and family to vote! And ask your friends and family to ask their
friends and family to vote!

Thanks for humoring me. I just think Tony B. deserves his moment in the sun, so let's try to give it to him, eh?

Until next time, vote!

NYM Book Review

2007-09-24T22:02:00.000-04:00

I've gobbled up a few books lately, some tastier than others. As everyone is a critic, I give you a second installment of the NYM Book Review:

The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde
I had extremely high hopes for this book. How could I not? The Wall Street Journal review included "Monty Python, Harry Potter, Stephen Hawking and Buffy the Vampire Slayer." Nothing could live up to that, so shame on WSJ for overselling and putting the bar way, way too high. Shame! That said, it was a fun read, though not quite what I was hoping for. I'll probably read another Thursday Next book and I couldn't read this one fast enough. I bought it Saturday afternoon and finished the 374er tonight (Monday), with oodles of football-watching in between. You can't really go wrong with a New York Times bestseller.

The Moorchild by Eloise McGraw
Perhaps this has been previously addressed, but NYM loves a good "young adult" novel. The Moorchild certainly is no Harry Potter (will the world ever meet such a phenom again?) but it landed a Newberry Honor and certainly deserved it. It is the story of a changeling who doesn't fit in and how she eventually confronts her past and future. One of the reviews says it is a great read-out-loud book and I can definitely see that. It's a good story and will speak to anyone (which is everyone) who ever felt like they didn't belong.

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Bronx is Burning: 1977, Baseball, Politics, and the Battle for the Soul of a City by Jonathan Mahler
Thank you, thank you, thank you Dan for this recommendation! I thoroughly enjoyed this book and recommend it to anyone. It has delicious vignettes, scrumptious profiles and succulent factoids. Read it; you'll like it!

The Nanny Diaries by Emma Mclaughlin and Nicola Kraus
V. popular novel-cum-box-office-bust. It was an easy read, entertaining while infuriating. Sometimes you just want to take characters by the shoulders and shake them really, really hard. Sure, the X's deserve a thrashing, but Nan really needs some sense let loose in her head.

The Godmother by Carrie Adams
If you liked For Better or Worse by Carole Matthews or later-day Nick Hornby, you'll probably enjoy The Godmother. Our herione is godmother to many, mother to none. We follow her circle of friends (and their families) through some noteworthy times. It's a poor, poor woman's Bridget Jones, but still an interesting (if predictable) read with more of life's down-and-dirtiness than Bridg ever saw.

OK, until next time, reading is fundamental!

House of Mouse

2007-09-20T23:48:00.000-04:00

NYM recently came back from a bitchin' trip to Disney World with NYM's sister. So for those of you considering visiting the House of Mouse, I give you my review:

Things supercalifragilisticexpealidious
Port Orleans Riverside: We stayed here and it was a really relaxing, spread out resort. Because it is on the Disney property there is free transit to all the parks, Disney downtown and the water parks. Lots of pools and very fun housekeepers who left us towel animals and TP'd our room on Saturday.

Soarin': This is a new ride at EPCOT in The Land and it is AWESOME. NYM is definitely afraid of heights so I was leery, but after an initial twitch this ride was tremendous. You feel like your are gliding over all these beautiful places in California. And the best part: I got to take off my shoes!

Extra magic hours: If you stay in the park, a world of things is at your disposal. Among the most useful are extra magic hours, in which the parks open early or stay open late for park dwellers. You just have to get a bracelet near closing time and you can stay late to frolic! Not all the ride are open, but there are special schedules out and about so you can plan your day and do some of the more in-demand rides after many folks have left the park.

Fast pass: If you stay in the park (notice a theme?) you can use your card to get fast passes for certain popular rides. The ticket gives you an hour window to return to the ride, allowing you to get into the fast line.

Big Thunder Mountain Railroad: Awesome.

La Nouba: It didn't make much sense to me, but Cirque du Soleil is pretty freaky neat.

Things amusing
Sci-Fi Dine-In Theater: The food wasn't any great shakes, but the trailers were hilarious. Cat-Women of the Moon may be my favorite. Apparently this is a real film. This is even funnier.

The Magic of Disney Animation: Learn to draw a Disney character while sitting in air conditioning! Pretty much awesome.

Affection Section at Animal Kingdom: Not only can you pet goats, you can *brush* them. This fulfills my OCD on many levels.

Kilimanjaro Safaris: Premise is a bit lame, but the animals are real and really close.

Buzz Lightyear's Space Ranger Spin: Laser tag while sitting. Requires coordination I apparently lack, but still fun.

Peter Pan's Flight: Surprisingly not disappointing.

Things disappointing to the point of making my mouse ears droop
The Seas with Nemo & Friends: First, this used to be a highlight for my Disney trips. Now it is just a sad pathetic attempt to repurpose something to incorporate a new movie. Cheaply.

The riverboat: We waited an hour and a half to get a ride to Downtown Disney for our 9 p.m. show of La Nouba and were almost late. What should have been a relaxing night out became a pretty stressful one. The boats were supposed to be coming every 10 minutes but the line was ridiculously long and no one seemed prepared to deal with that.

Hot hot heat: I don't recommend Florida in early September. It's hot. As a mildly irritating side note, this is also training time for all the new "cast" members, so even though there are 20 people behind the counter, don't expect them to be able to help you.

Despite the ear-drooping bits, we had a super awesome trip and I highly recommend the House of Mouse to all looking to escape the every-day hubbub.

Until next time, see you real soon!

This week I love ... the MTA?

2007-08-28T23:23:00.000-04:00

Among the many things I love this week is this sweet little poster by Leonard Quiles for the (gasp) MTA. For all of the times the MTA has let us down (let me count the ways), I have to give the Establishment for Fare Exchange props for supporting the visual arts. This poster is one in an ongoing series about New York transit. I love seeing it everywhere. It makes me want to draw more. And something about that bunny is wonderfully off.

The bunny poster made me think of two other MTA landmarks I adore: the 14th Street/Eighth Avenue station on the E line and the Prince Street stop on the N,R,W.

At 14th/Eighth are Tom Otterness's Life Underground figures in bronze. It is sort of like Disneyland took over the station, with all these unspeakably cute figures acting out scenes of daily life. Think dozers from Fraggle Rock. Freaking pinchably cute. Except they are bronze, which is not so pinchable.

Prince Street station is adorned with "Carrying On" by Janet Zweig and Edward del Rosario, featuring 200 silhouettes of people carrying things. I admired this work for a while, mostly trying to figure out how the mosaics fit so cleanly (cut with waterjets). But then I heard the story behind the frieze and it took on a whole new meaning, placing it firmly in my heart as a piece of real New York. The artists spent time photographing actual people all over the city who were carrying things. They translated some of these images into the silhouettes. In the artists' own words: "People on the streets of New York are almost always carrying something, sometimes something huge and outlandish. After the 9/11 tragedy, New Yorkers felt that they must carry on with their lives. Finally, New Yorkers are notoriously opinionated and lively; they really do 'carry on.'"

Signing off, lest I, too, carry on ...

Gym Rat

2007-08-16T20:05:00.000-04:00

I finally gave in to peer pressure and joined the gym. Apparently all the cool kids are doing it. My gym membership doesn't really qualify, though, since it is for the work gym. Most New Yorkers join the gym to "get in shape." This is code for "meet people." But since I'm just sweating it out with coworkers, there's not a lot of interaction. It's more of a don't-make-eye-contact-while-sweating environment. But that's OK by me. I actually did join the gym to get in shape, overcoming terrible intimidation to do so. Remember gym class? I didn't go so well for me.

Anywho, I recently turned 30. It was right around that time that I noticed my clothes were shrinking. Sure, it could be an evil plot by the rats, who, theoretically, are running my threads through a dryer while I'm at work. Or perhaps they have those Cinderella mice taking in my clothes whilst singing in freakishly high-pitched voices. But as my good friend William of Ockham says, the simplest answer is usually the best one. I had to face facts: The rats were injecting me with fat while I slept.

There's only one way to fight this, which, sadly, involves hard work. Thus, the gym. I'm total rubbish at working out at home. I'll do it for a little while, get into a routine, but the first whiff of something else comes along and that's the end of tae bo with Billy Blanks. I figured joining the gym would provide me incentive, since it is at my place of employ and I do have to pay for it. So far it's working out all right. So far.

However (and isn't there always a however?), when I was orientated to the gym, the trainer showed me how to use some of the weight machines. I have been using them faithfully twice a week for about a month now, in addition to the cardio machines. Yet I am just putting on more mass—2.5 lbs. of mass to exact—which is not what I was looking for. So I'm strictly an elliptical machine/bike girl now. And it's back to yoga at home. Until I get distracted by ice cream sandwiches, or blogging, or youtube, or the book I'm reading, or the phone ...

Until next time, drop and give me 20.

NYM (hearts) Richard Serra

2007-08-12T20:43:00.000-04:00

It has been a very weird day, even by New York standards. I woke up and discovered the water wasn't running in the bathroom, though mysteriously it was working in the kitchen. I waited it out a little, thinking that maybe they were doing plumbing work or something. But when the water still wasn't working an hour later, I called the Super. Here's where the day hits bottom: The Super tells me that a girl on one of the floors below me died, with the water running. Because it is a crime scene, they can't shut the water off in her apartment, so they had to shut the whole valve down. So no water in the bathroom until the police move the body.

I was pretty seriously freaked. I even woke up G to tell him. Then emailed my mom and sister. Then I waited. I occupied myself by posting some old NYMs to the blog (from the email-only days of NYM). Then after an hour, I couldn't take it any more. I had really, really wanted to go to the Richard Serra show at the MoMA and this was the only day I was going to have a chance to do it. But, due to my 80 levels of OCD, I cannot leave the house unbathed. So I got twitchy. I called the Super again. He said it might be another hour. The MoMA's hours of operation were dwindling away. I pitched a mini fit to G.

About 20 minutes later, the water came on. I hopped in the shower, eager to start my day. I was on the conditioner stage of my shower when I realized what an extremely insensitive git was being. I mean, someone died. She could have been killed, or had an accident, or (what I deem most likely) ended her own life. It is a real tragedy and I still can't seem to wrap my mind around it.

I headed out to the MoMA seeing and appreciating the world like I rarely remember to. I was thankful to be. And from there on I had a really amazing day. The MoMA is a wonderful, yet expensive place, so I don't go too often. But I really wanted to see this Richard Serra show; I am so glad I did.

Serra started with smaller sculptures, but now works in giant pieces of steel, creating environments you can walk through. He says he wants you to experience his pieces on a psychological level and I totally did. There is something very natural and cave-like about these large works. I'd even call them womb-like. Definitely feminine. If you go—and please do if you have the chance—walk close along the walls. The first time the angle changes and the wall starts to fall away from you, you have this overwhelming feeling of space and motion, even vertigo. All with slabs of metal! It's so simple and beautiful and powerful. I seriously almost cried while I was walking through Band on the second floor. The only other time I've been so struck by a piece of art is when I saw David in Florence.

Of course, I was/am probably emotionally ... er ... unbalanced. Well, more than usual. I hope, though, that wherever the girl from downstairs is, she can rest in peace. And I hope you can all find a bit of peace today, too.

Until next time ...

This is ridiculous (or NYM wants to wear Underoos, just Underoos, all day)

2007-08-09T00:04:00.001-04:00

Well, it finally happened, an event so immensely irritating that I could no longer sit on my duff and continue to *not* blog. So now, thanks to rain+tornado?+heat+the ever-loving MTA, is the first-ever New York Minute blog post. Let's get to the good stuff:

Ah, rain. Not only did you rob me of hours of sleep by tripping some stooge's car alarm right below my window—not once, but twice, at 45 minutes a pop—but, rain, you also saw fit to shut down THE ENTIRE NEW YORK SUBWAY SYSTEM. And for good measure, you took out New Jersey Transit, Metro-North and the LIRR. All hail the mighty rain.

But surely the MTA has had to deal with rain before, no? Oui, my friends. On average, it precipitates 121 days a year in New York City. For those of you keeping score at home, that's a third of the year. Granted, it isn't all rain. But a goodly portion is. So what gives? Apparently the infrastructure of "the world's best transportation system." (Direct quote from MTA website http://www.mta.info/mta/network.htm, which apparently shut down during the critical times when people would have actually needed it to get information today.)

But, truly, I tell you brothers and sister of Gotham and beyond, I am *not* here to kvetch about the MTA (today). I am here to ask, nay, demand to know what became of the Future? You remember the Future, don't you? It is that golden age of telecommunicating telecommuting we were all promised. Why do we even need the MTA? Why must I leave the comfort of my air-conditioned apartment to put in eight hours of hard, grueling labor? Why can't I labor from my living room? Or kitchen? Or, for the risque, bedroom? Where is my teleconference? The one where I wear a suit jacket and blouse with just my Jockey shorts in the southern hemisphere? You know, business up top, party on the bottom. Or better yet, where is my IM-based workgroup, so that I can sit on my couch in my Underoos all day, no one the wiser?

I see how telecommuting won't work for everyone. Certain careers are dependent on location; waiters, doctors and my Starbucks barista lose some meaning if they aren't where I need them. (Closest barista: 981 feet.) But imagine, if you can, a commute without the desk jockeys, such as myself (proud member since 1999). It would be so easy! No sweaty bodies packed into a metal tube like Spam. Just half as many sweaty bodies, with more space to breathe. Trust me, this is a good thing. There is only so much good will to be spent in one day and if you have to sink it all into your morning commute, things don't look so good for the afternoon. Not even with a venti iced green tea.

Until next time, hang tough. Underoos optional.

Underground ads

2006-04-18T11:46:00.000-04:00

The thing about subways is that you get up close and personal with billboards. That means everyone else does, too. And let me tell you, a spare square of white space doesn't last long in this city.

Most times it's not very creative graffiti tags all over the billboard. Once in a while you see something exceptionally odd, such as the proclamation that Nazis are going to wipe Iran off the face of the earth in 2008 and call this number to find out more: Number goes here. I've also seen notes to seemingly lost loved ones scrawled on billboards. (There is one to My Angel from Your Beating Heart at 23rd Street.)

The smartest billboard designers are the ones who use loads of black, such as the X-Men 3 ads. It takes the taggers more time to find white markers and paint, so the billboard stays cleaner longer.

The billboard designers who missed out are the ones who designed the New York Sports Network ads. Not only are they mostly white, they make direct references to the platform culture. Sure, it's witty to see an arrow pointing to the platform saying "Get your army of white headphone-wearing people here," and another pointing to a TV saying "Get your New York sports here." But when the billboard says "Get your wrong-side-of-the-platform tourist here" and is located no where near the platform, it loses a lot of punch and mostly seems stupid.

And of course there are the visual jokes, such as various mouths and facial accessories added to the "Silent Hill" poster. But my absolute favorite is the "Pepper Dennis" billboards. I've tried to recreate it for you here. It's not easy being beautiful!

Until Wednesday, remember to brush your teeth!

Chicken Little, or The Bugs Are Still Here!

2006-04-17T11:44:00.000-04:00

Well, two weeks after they were supposed to come, the exterminators are allegedly to come this Thursday. For those of you keeping score, as of Tuesday I have been dealing with this bed bug situation in one form or another for a month. It feels like much, much longer.

This past Thursday I came home to find that, yet again, the exterminators had not come. That launched a fury I did not anticipate -- and the obligatory call to my sister to calm me the heck down. But first I called the Super and sort of chewed him out (not really him, but vented how frustrated I now am). He told me the exterminators were now supposed to come at the beginning of this week and that they believe the bugs must be living in the cardboard boxes in my bedroom. This is a load of bull. First, when the white powder was down, I was still being bitten. Allegedly the bugs cannot cross the white powder and live. Yet, there I was with bites. So clearly they are in my bed. Second, I broke down all those boxes after the Super told me this. Not one hint of a bug.

So now I am irritated because I feel I am being ignored, that the exterminators don't know what else to do so they are just going to call me crazy. And apparently no one else is still having a problem.

Anyway, I talked to my landlord's office today and they called the exterminators and supposedly the exterminators are coming Thursday. I am calling tomorrow to confirm this. The exterminators wanted me here so they could "talk" with me, but -- hello? -- I am at work during the week. Plus, it sounds like an intervention.

The exterminators and landlord keep trying to feed me this line that I may see bugs for up to two weeks after a treatment. So riddle me this: It has been over two weeks. I don't see the bugs. And I am still waking up with bites all over. What do you think it is?

I feel like Chicken Little. No one believes my sky is falling.

Oh well. Tomorrow I'll try to put together something entertaining and not just complain about my life with the bugs. Until then, ya gotta believe.

P.S. Welcome, R, to The List. Also, congratulations to R and K for passing their comprehensive exams so very swimmingly! Just keep swimming, just keep swimming ...

Cleopatra, Queen of the Night

2006-04-12T11:41:00.000-04:00

Today’s story is one of heroism. Well, loosely about heroism. It is about how a stranger (me) saved a small pooch from uncertain death:

W, A and I were out walking to Toasty’s so they could buy lunch. I needed to mail something so I tagged along. And it was lucky I did, for there on the corner of Seventh and 21st, a drama of less-than-epic proportions played out.

We were just crossing 21st when we saw an older woman on the corner preparing to cross, even as the walk sign hand was beginning to blink. She had a small dog who was in the process of escaping from his collar. The woman was trying to pull the pooch across the street and clearly the pooch did not want to go. Swoosh! Off came the collar. Panic raced across the woman’s face. The leash dangled from her hands. The pooch stood free of any earthly ties. Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, free at last!

But wait … what is this?!

A heroic stranger (me) swooped in and scooped up the doggy, possibly saving it from the oncoming traffic. The older woman thanked the stranger profusely while putting the dog’s collar back on. She kept saying thank you, then asked the stranger if she lived around here. The stranger said, no, I work around here. Then she said she lives right there [gestures at a building on the corner] in 1212 -- just come by any time and ask for her, Cleopatra Queen of the Night.

I swear to God that is what she said. And the thing is, you would have never expected Cleopatra Queen of the Night to look like your favorite great aunt. Or maybe you would …

Until Thursday, my pets!

Underground activities

2006-04-11T11:36:00.000-04:00

I spend a lot of time on the subway, probably about 50 minutes a day, sometimes more. And I've noticed there are about a million ways to spend your time on the underground love train.

The very industrious read things such as The Wall Street Journal and the New York Times. But let's face it, a broadsheet is difficult to manage; it's just so ... broad. And sheety. That is why the Post and the freebie tabloids around the subway station are big faves. Also, the Post and the tabs are just more hard-hitting. For instance, I bet the NYT story about the coyote in Central Park lacked any reference to Wile E. Coyote, a journalistic transgression the Post would never, ever commit. (http://www.nypost.com/news/regionalnews/65817.htm) [Sadly, Hal the Coyote died in captivity. Now he is a martyr. For more extremely reliable breaking news you absolutely need to know about Hal, Google "coyote Central Park New York Post."]

In short, the folding factor plays a big part in reading choices. I see more magazines jammed in people's bags and in people's hands here than I ever saw in a doctor's office. Also popular: used paperbacks (usually fantasy or action/intrigue/adventure) and the Bible. (Minus the Book of Judas ... http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/nationworld/2002916272_judas07.html ... a tip from Dad.)

But not everyone reads. Some sleep. Some sing to themselves, oblivious we can hear them over their MP3 players. And they are out of tune. Some meditate, which I have tried while sitting, but it is hard to focus with someone's bum in your face.

Mostly, we all just sit there, gazing off into the ether in a pre- or post-work daze. I spent a whole ride home one night trying to remember the last name of Maggie on Northern Exposure (O'Connell). I spent another trying to remember all of the main characters from King of the Hill. (I was stuck on Dale's last name -- Gribble -- and Bill's -- Dauterive.) So you can see I'm really making good use of my time.

Speaking of Time, G often gets a copy of that magazine from his place of employ for me. And here is what I learned last week while actually reading on the subway: Alaska and the British Isles are on the same longitude, so if the Gulf Stream shifts, it's going to be mighty cold in the motherland. Also, the polar ice caps are melting at such an astonishing rate, polar bears are turning up drowned because they have no place to swim to. Extinction is on the horizon. (If you are interested, I recommend the Time with the sad polar bear on the cover. And if you are spurred to act or learn more, I recommend undoit.org. If you buy Silk, Clif, Odwalla or Stonyfield Farm products, you're already supporting the cause.)

So now you've learned just about everything I've learned on the subway in the past month or so, plus a little more. Feel educated? :)

Until Tuesday, I'll be taking reading recommendations.

P.S. The bugs appear to still be here. Something is biting me at night. I'll assume it is bugs. Grrr, bugs. Grrrr.

My Semi-Brush With TV Fame & Fortune

2006-04-07T11:27:00.000-04:00

My Semi-Brush With TV Fame & Fortune
Starring ….
SG as The Idea Man (er, Woman)
SS as The Recruiter
NYM as The Gun For Hire (minus the being paid part)

Our story opens at the beginning of February, deep in the offices of the Worldwide Leader in Sports. While surfing the Interweb (copyright S. Ohri), young SG happened upon a casting call for The World Series of Trivia. Curious, she sent SS an email asking if he’d be interested.

Then things got interesting.

SS quickly became the team captain, but the team (Freaks & Geeks) needed a third. They asked G’s brother, but he couldn’t do it because he has two family members working for Time Inc. So he pointed SS in my direction. He sent me an email asking if I would be interested, but the recruiting had spread far and wide, including The Schwab (if you don’t know who he is, you aren’t missing out).

In the end, I couldn’t think of a reason not to do it and no one else agreed to, so I became the third and final member of Freaks & Geeks. We had one Triviathon at B&A’s (most gracious hosts) and then last weekend, the casting call was on.

Pre-casting call I needed to get a headshot (!). Luckily, one of G’s friends agreed to take one for me. So on my lunch hour last Thursday, R, G and I were out on the patio across from the Time Inc. building, businessmen flocked around us eating lunch – just like the pigeons. R kept cursing them because he couldn’t find a flat background, but he managed all right and, voila!, headshot.

The plan was for Freaks & Geeks to meet at a hotel in NYC at 3, then eventually head to the Hilton on 6th Ave for the casting call. But Captain SS was caught in traffic, so we all just met at the Hilton, keeping our fingers crossed that he would make it in time. Then we waited in line with about 30 other teams for our 6 p.m. appointment. Apparently they had been running tests every hour with about 30 teams a pop. We were finally ushered into a room very much like testing facilities you experienced in college. We were handed envelopes and forms and Very Official things to sign because They don’t want you to know “how Their selection process works.”

I figure I got more than half of the test questions right. The ’80s movies saved me.

We had to sit and wait while they graded the tests in another room. We were quite antsy, despite being distracted by trivia questions and bad jokes. Finally, they announced only four groups had passed. Four! Slowly, they named off each team, our chances getting narrower and narrower with each name called. Then the last lucky team was about to be named. We were on the edge of our seats. Would our journey end here? Would we make it to the next round? Chances were slim.

The last group was … Freaks & Geeks!

There was a little celebratory fist bumping and then we had to wait in the hall – again – with the other three groups. We were each ushered into another room for a team interview, which is where the wheels came off the operation.

We were the last group to be interviewed. And I should have known we were in trouble when SG gave very detailed information about “The Bachelor.”

They asked why we should be chosen for the program. So SG said, and I quote, “Well, I’ve got big boobs and I’d be willing to wear a tank top.” She knows what sells!

Then they asked why we would be good at this game. SS launched into how I am “The Machine” and I just know answers right away and SG is “The Detective,” you give her a clue and she hunts down the answer. And he described himself as sometimes taking a long time to come up with the answer, but eventually he would come up with it. I have to say, I was beginning to sound like the Terminator.

They followed up by asking what our specialties are. That’s when the nails were driven into the coffin, I think. SS went on a very, very entertaining 5-minute rant about how he loves ’80s music and how Terrence Trent Darby (that’s right, of “Wishing Well” fame) is totally underappreciated and he is still recording today and how dare Entertainment Weekly list him as a one-hit wonder! It was quite passionately argued. I did not know Mr. Trent Darby had such a following.

So that was it. The VH1 people called us at dinner about an hour later and said they had seen a lot of people and had decided to go with a different group. Thus ended my burgeoning TV career. I can’t say I’m sad about it. It did allow me to do my taxes on Sunday instead of going through the next all-day elimination round (which actually did earn me money). But SS and SG seemed bummed. It was a fun experience and I’m glad I did it. Even if you won’t be seeing me on the little screen some day.

Until Monday, be ready for your closeup!

Beat Down by the Bugs

2006-04-06T11:25:00.000-04:00

Several minutes have ticked by and still now word from NYM. What could have happened? Has she been eaten alive by bed bugs? Is she being held captive deep in the underbelly of the Naked City by the Rat King? Or is she just tired and depressed?

I'm afraid the much less interesting answer is the correct one. And not a very good excuse either for not emailing, but there it is.

A recap: Last Wednesday I came home to a coke fiend's dream. The exterminators had been in and dusted my bedroom with white powder. For two days my home seemed bug-free. I didn't wake up with bites all over and there weren't droppings in my sheets. On the third day I was feeling so good, I even let G come over and help me hang up my sheet curtains. Alas, that night the bugs came back. I have had bites every morning since. Mom says they cannot resist my sweet meats. The exterminators were supposed to be back today, but apparently they didn't keep their appointment. Who knows what is next or if I am stuck with bugs forever.

I'm at my wit's end about these bugs. I feel very isolated, since I can't have people over. And I am so tired of living among boxes and out of bags and not having a real home. I am going back to CT this weekend to my mom and dad's, even though I am afraid of spreading the bugs. I need a little escape and a little sleep.

So that's what's up with the bugs and with me. I have more to tell about my brush with TV stardom (even though I signed a paper that said I wouldn't talk about it), but I'll save that for another day. Tonight I just wanted to drop by and say "Hey friends, I am thinking about you and I am OK."

Until tomorrow, chin up!

Axis of evil?

2006-03-28T11:19:00.000-05:00

Amigos, I sense a conspiracy of grand proportions is afoot. I think the bugs, the rats and the Super are all in cahoots. I have proof!

On my way upstairs last night I ran into one of my neighbors. I asked him if he had seen any bugs. He lowered his voice in a conspiratorial manner and asked, "What kind of bugs?" Like he didn't know. Cha. I dropped my voice and whispered, "Bed bugs." And here is what he said:

No, we haven't seen any of them for two months since they treated the last time, after we had to petition for the exterminators to come in. We had them. Not a lot of them, like the apartments on the second and third floor. We were pretty ticked, too, that the exterminators drilled in our walls this time because we painted and we don't have any of that paint left.

AH HA! So when the Super said only three apartments on the second and third floor had the bugs, he was lying. I think all his gestures of installing screens and replacing toilet seats were to throw me off the scent. His ultimate goal: Leave me unprepared for the bugs' attack.

Oh, what a wicked web they weave.

To further cement his "good, anti-bug" image, the Super has contacted the exterminators and they are coming tomorrow morning to "evaluate" my apartment. Probably checking to see if I am crazy and imagining bugs or if they are really here. This involves me bravely carving a path through the rubbish in my apartment tonight, so they can get through the boxes and bags and such. Callooh! Callay!

Anyway, I miss the funny and I bet you do, too. So I'll do my best with a few snapshots from New York:

Witnessed on Sixth Avenue
I was walking next to a man on his cellphone and over heard the following conversation:
"Where are you?" he lisped. "Oh! I can see you! You're right ahead of me."
"No, no. Turn, turn, turn. A complete 360." I can actually see a woman up ahead at the corner spinning in circles like a Magic Kingdom teacup. After a dizzying number of spins they finally establish contact, evoking the ever popular "Daaaarling! How are you?" I can't believe people actually say this.

How To Take Over The City, or Apple Is Manufacturing Weapons of Mass Destruction
Everyone but me has an iPod here. They listen to them on the subway, while walking, in the store, even while they are pretending to hold conversations with their friends. It must be like walking around in a movie, where your whole life has a soundtrack. "And here is my 'Walk the dog and look away while he tinkles' song. It's so jazzy." Anyway, if anyone -- say Lex Luthor -- wanted to take over Metropolis, iPods would be the way. Just a few choice electric shocks, or maybe subliminal messages, and he would have a whole army of willing drones. Think about that the next time you pop in those earplugs, America. I bet they even have kryptonite chips embedded in them.

Shopping In Astoria
My grocery store, the local Associated, sells a variety of ethnic foods and some unusual edibles. For instance, you can get a 12-pack of frozen quail, which are so tiny they don't seem worth the effort. There are also Irish soda breads from the Gaelic bakery, stuffed grape leaves and a variety of guava and mango beverages. But my favorite ethnic food is Abuelita chocolate drink mix. The box makes me chuckle every time I see it. Is it just me, or is she giving you a "come hither" stare over her cup of cocoa?

Until Wednesday, drink your Ovaltine ...

Operation Apartment Storm, Mission Hand-Washing

2006-03-24T11:16:00.000-05:00

Sorry to skip a Minute, loyal readers, but I was busy launching my next offensive in the Battle of the Bugs. It seems they did not disappear, but merely retreated to gather their forces.

Since we last convened, I have had another round of bites, possibly two rounds. I itch, but I wonder how much is actually from the bugs and how much is me psyching myself out. It’s getting hard to tell if the red marks on my skin are bites or just where I’ve itched or just normal fair skin irritation. But there were definitely bites on Thursday morning. Definitely, definitely.

So I have come to accept that the bugs will not go easily into that good night and that another round of exterminating may be in my future (but not for another two weeks). Thus, I am leaving things G and I had not unpacked in boxes for now. And any clothes I left in bags are being sealed up so I won’t have to wash everything all over again. (Though there will certainly still be a lot to wash.)

Last night I began to wash all of the hand-wash items I had bagged up. Thank God the hot water is very hot at my apartment. I was able to wash the shag rug in the tub (which it sorely needed anyway). Everything else went into boiling water. This is the recipe, should you ever find yourself in a dogfight with the bugs with delicates on the line:

Boil a large pot of water.
Pour into dishpan.
Add detergent (which dissolves unbelievably fast).
Add garment (the dyes bleed so I can only do one or two things at a time).
Stir with wooden spoon.
Top off with hot water from tap.
Allow to sit for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Have next pot of water heating on stove.
Rinse, ring, hang on metal drying rack (which the bugs allegedly won’t crawl up).
Repeat.

So I still have about a bag and a half of stuff to go, but it feels good to have a plan and be doing something. It’ll probably take all weekend to finish the hand-washing. I also have a side project for Saturday: spackling each and every crack, crevice and hole in my walls.

Mom keeps telling me what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger. The bugs should be careful; they are creating a monster. You won’t like me when I’m angry.

Until Monday: Have putty knife, will spackle…

New York Mysteries Solved!

2006-03-22T11:13:00.000-05:00

Tired of bed bugs? I know I am. (No sign of them last night, but there was also scant sign of shuteye.) So let's have some fun instead of bugs -- we'll call it a USO stop for Operation Apartment Storm.

Presenting ... New York Mysteries Solved!

Our first mystery is "threading." What is it? Why are there always men wearing sandwich boards on 23rd Street advertising it? Why have I never heard of this before?

The answer from hairfacts.com (yes, there are enough facts on hair to launch a website):
Threading is a way to remove unwanted hair. The threader holds one end of a cotton thread in his or her teeth and the other in the left hand. The middle is looped through the index and middle fingers of the right hand. The practitioner then uses the loop to trap a series of unwanted hairs and pull them from the skin.

This is allegedly less painful than plucking. And here I was expecting something involving braids. The reason I never heard of threading before is that it is apparently hard to find qualified threaders outside of large cities and Indian and Muslim communities. So if you want your eyebrows done, come to New York!

Our second mystery is why are there two past due dates on my milk carton?

The answer is red tape, my friends. But this time, the government really is trying to protect me.
According to the New York Times, New York City has its own dating rules and milk can only be legally sold for only 96 hours after pasteurization. So why can you poor schleps drink old milk? Elsewhere in the world the processor determines the past due dates, which can range from eight to 12 days. Suckers. Tee hee.

But I jest. You have nothing to worry about. The fine City of New York is being cautious with its precious workforce, since temperatures can vary so much for cartons of milk in the city (from the trucks to the stores, to the shelves, to your apartment). And nobody likes chunky milk. Nobody, no how.

Sacre bleu invaders!

2006-03-21T11:10:00.000-05:00

Hi, y'all. I'm running out of juice here since I had a bit of a downer day, plus three hours of InDesign training after work. Whew.

Apparently I spoke too soon when I said NYM was bug-free. That'll come back to bite you in the arse every time. Or the neck, as the case is. I woke up this morning and found a bed bug sitting, quite plainly, on the wall in back of my bed. I appear to have several bite marks on my neck, too.

I know the exterminator said we could see them for up to two weeks after the treatment, but now they are in my apartment! They definitely were not here before. I haven't had any bites like this. [shakes fists at sky -- wails "Why? Why?]

So now I am secluding myself from society as much as possible, for fear of spreading the infestation. I am a leper. I've had to cancel a potential trip home, a visit from my mom and I am even forbidding G to come visit. I just couldn't live with myself if I was the cause of this insanity for someone else.

I spent all day feeling like things were crawling on me. I hope I can get to sleep tonight. I am so freaking out, but cruising the blogs today at work, I read some real horror stories about these infestations. I am mighty grateful my landlord is doing what it can to get rid of these punks.

Until Wednesday, get an extra hour of sleep for me ... I think I'm going to need it.

NYM now bug-free!

2006-03-20T11:05:00.000-05:00

When we last left our heroine, she was preparing for a long siege at the hands of the bed bugs (or whatever appendages they have) …

Friday night was a lot of random packing and sorting things to be laundered and thinking, “Good God, I have way too much stuff.” I wasn’t sure what to do about my stuffed bear, so he is being cryogenically frozen in a plastic bag in my Frigidaire. Bed bugs are not supposed to last more than two weeks in sub-zero temps.

On Saturday, I received several visitors. First were the cable Internet guy and his apprentice (perhaps son?). It took them all of 10 minutes to hook me up to wicked fast Internet. I know you are all jealous.

Then the Super showed up. He put in my screens and even installed my new toilet seat. Everything was sunshine and lollipops until he dropped this on me: The exterminators aren’t bombing. As a matter of fact, what they’re doing is relatively non-invasive. Basically, I have double-bagged and boxed all my possessions for no reason whatsoever. But it’s good practice. Some day I could be a championship packer. Not that I know what that championship would involve. Probably timed packing, integrity of packing, newspaper rolling and tape ripping. I think the final challenge would be dropping your boxes off the roof across from Letterman and whoever has the most non-broken items wins. Of course everyone would have to pack the same items for the sake of fairness.

But I digress (forgive me, my brain is mush). So the boxes were packed in the center of the living room with care in hopes that the exterminators soon would be there. Eventually, George and his crew made it to the fourth floor and here is what I learned that fateful Saturday, brothers and sisters: Bleach kills bed bugs. Also, ammonia. You can even use a 50-50 solution of ammonia and water. Not that I am suggesting you try to eradicate the little punks yourself; definitely seek professional help. But if you have the unfortunate luck to meet a bed bug on the street, whip out your spritzer of bleach and send the sucker to his maker.

Other things I learned this weekend:
1. You can get bed bugs at hotels, even fancy ones are starting to have problems. They’ll travel in your suitcase and in your clothes. Also, you can get them by visiting someone who has them. Bed bugs are making a comeback in the U.S. after a hiatus. If only we could say the same for NKOTB.
2. The epicenter of my building’s infestation is an apartment on the second floor, where a pack rat lives. She has had her apartment thoroughly treated before. George and his guys were in there for five hours. It cost $800.
3. Two other apartments have had bed bugs, one directly above that apartment on the third floor and the other also on the second floor. Apparently the young woman who lives there made the unwise decision to befriend the pack rat. The moral: Never make friends.
4. In those apartments, the “hot zone” if you will, George & Co. drilled holes every 16 inches along the baseboards and tops of the walls so they could spray inside the walls. This is how bed bugs get around, through walls, along baseboards, hiding in dark corners and nooks and crannies. They do not fancy light. Clearly they are mercenaries for the Dark Lord.
5. Only three people, out of a possible 16 (I think) actually followed the instructions for the extermination.
6. The extermination cost a cool $8,000.
7. George & Co. will be back in three weeks to make sure the bugs are gone. It takes two weeks for the spray to fully take effect.
8. I could wipe out my dressers and use them after 24 hours. So I do not have to live out of boxes for another two weeks. [much rejoicing]
9. I have approximately $60 worth of washable fabric items. This does not include two rugs and two bags of items I must handwash (in boiling water) and two bags of dry cleaning, which will probably wipe out my savings. Thank you, bed bugs.
10. My legs hurt from walking up and down the stairs with all that laundry. If nothing, this incident has inspired charity. I am donating at least one bag of stuff (it’s all clean and bug-free after all). If I ever have to do this again, that’ll be one less trip up and down the stairs.

Until Tuesday, keep your bleach close by …

Bed bugs attack!

2006-03-17T11:02:00.000-05:00

I have suffered a devastating blow to my psyche. It appears that while I was out preparing to fight the rats, they sent their minions the bed bugs to throw my life into chaos.

I know there are people truly suffering in this world and that I am one of the luckier ones, but it really, really feels like God is out to get me. Here’s what’s going on:

I came home at about 7:30 last night, which is becoming my norm after working late and then composing these emails. Under my door was a four-page memo from the apartment owners saying that exterminators are coming Saturday from 8 am to 5 pm and they will be treating the entire building for bed bugs. What does this entail? I have to do all of the following things before the exterminators come:

1. Bag up all of my clothes and bedding to be washed in HOT water after the extermination.
2. Remove “clutter. “
3. Clear off all shelves and other places with “dark corners.”
4. Move all furniture away from the walls.
5. Remove all drapes and bag for laundering.

So essentially, after reaching the point where I am very nearly unpacked, I must pack it all up again, since everything I own is “on bookshelves” and “in dressers and closets.”

After the extermination, I have all this to look forward to:

1. Washing everything I own in hot, hot water.
2. Washing all of my dishes and the cabinets. AGAIN.
3. Wait to clean for 14 days. (14 days! Living with God only knows what chemicals and dead things!) Then clean like a mad person. Seal everything in plastic bags.
4. Pray the bed bugs have been eradicated.

Now, I have been living among clutter for the past three months. I’ve been living out of boxes for about two. I am just getting to the point where I am organized and now I have to rip it all up again. If you know me, and I believe most of you do, you know that there is only a low level of clutter and disarray I can deal with. After that it becomes mentally taxing. I’m sure I’ve got 80 versions of OCD, but I like cleanliness and orderliness. And to be without it drives me batty.

So upon learning I was going to have to repack, I broke down last night. I don’t know if I can deal with this again, but I guess I have no choice. I can’t go stay with mom and dad like I could have if I was still in CT. And that’s the price I have to pay in my war with the rats, and the bed bugs.

It is important to note that I haven’t seen any signs of bed bugs in my apartment, but apparently others in the building have them or have had them. And they are difficult to get rid of. Apparently they’ll just move from apartment to apartment unless you bomb the whole building. So on one hand, I guess it is a good thing the landlord is being thorough. On the other hand, I am now itchy everywhere and imagining I do indeed have bed bugs. Who knows. What I do know it this: I’ll be very busy all weekend.

So I was hoping to catch up on emails this weekend, but that won’t be happening now. It’ll probably be another week, maybe two. I’m sorry! I’ll let you all know how the extermination goes on Monday though.

Until then, keep your Raid close at hand.

Rats of NYM

2006-03-16T10:50:00.000-05:00

I hate rats. I loathe them on a level that defies logic. I’m pretty sure it’s the hairless, thick tail that sends shivers down my spine, but it could be any of their other fine features, such as pestilence.

Anyway, as a hater of rats, New York is an unusual choice for a residence, since rats are only barely outnumbered by people. Some day the rodents will rise up and take over the city in a virtually bloodless coup (because we are cowards and they are vicious – have you seen their sharp teeth?).

Now some people freak out when they are very close to certain animals – snakes, bugs, etc. I freak out at the very thought of rats. So you can imagine my joy at seeing them scurry back and forth across the subway tracks. Yes, I know I am fairly removed from them. And yes, I know they aren’t very interested in people (until the coup, when we will all become their slaves). But rats just give me the willies.

The only thing that lifts my spirits about the subway rats is the periodic sign, courtesy the City of New York, that “Rodenticide has been used in this area.” Then it is comfortingly dated. Usually for six years ago.

I think this may be a false sense of comfort, though. I suspect the rats are actually planting these signs themselves. I think it is their way of lulling us into torpidity leading up to the coup. The giveaway is that the rat depicted on the signs has these long, freakishly skinny arms. This is not a fuzzy little creature that scampers across the floor, dashing from one hole to the next. This is a creature that has evolved opposable thumbs while living, breeding and sacrificing baby orphans in the city sewers. And this creature is preparing to use those thumbs. For evil.

Now you are probably thinking, “Hey, Splinter lived in the sewers and he was a freakishly large, opposable-thumbed rat and he worked for the forces of good!” This is a lie being sold to you by the rats. They already have taken over the entertainment industry. Don’t believe me? Then explain “Fear Factor.”

That’s what I thought. Now you are on my side.

Until Friday, train for combat …

Ommmmhhhh

2006-03-15T10:49:00.000-05:00

Today has been a frustrating day. The server doesn’t work so well at work and that makes everyone’s computer slllloooooooooow. It has been a sort of zen exercise in patience, but at this point, I am ready to burst. It is 6:17 and I am just waiting for emails to actually get to clients. It has been an hour. I’m even trying my personal email now. It is ridiculous. One of these emails I sent yesterday! The client never got it.

Anyway, this is a lame minute, but I am so burned out from the computer situation that I can’t stand to stay here any longer. I promise a better, funnier minute tomorrow. It will also feature 90% less kvetching!

Until a possibly faster Thursday, my pretties …

Attack of the Clones

2006-03-14T10:47:00.000-05:00

Chris is complaining about the length of my minutes, so I’ll try to keep this one short. Blame him.

This morning two things happened: My neighbor whisked my garbage out of my hands as I was leaving my apartment (I was having trouble balancing everything) and he raced down to the trashcans out back. I didn’t even know his name and had to hustle to catch up with him. None of my West Hartford neighbors ever ran away with my trash. As far as I know.

The second thing is this: I am 99 percent sure there is some kind of cloning experiment being performed in Astoria and Long Island City at this very moment. I was on my way to the turnstile this morning and I passed a group of three men, all in black trench coats and navy suits. Each one was holding his Starbuck’s coffee (all the same size!) exactly the same way. It was mildly creepy in that 1984 sort of way.

Initially I thought this was some sort of Latte Mafia. Then, at 23rd-Ely, three more guys got on the train – these ones were dressed in jeans (all had the same fit), black polarfleeces (Northface, of course) and sneakers. And THEY were all holding coffees (also the same size) in the exact same way.

Now I guess there are only so many ways to hold coffee, but for every single one of these guys to be holding his coffee cup at a precise right angle … something is rotten in the state of Denmark, I tell you. Next thing you know, Jango Fetts are going to be running all over the place.

Believe me you should. And guard your DNA.

Until Wednesday, my genetically unique friends …

I dream of screens

2006-03-13T10:41:00.000-05:00

I'm back in the city, and the pavement feels good under my feet...

CT was nice. It was good to spend time with my family and visit with B and A (G's brother and sister-in-law). We had an excellent Triviathon at their house with my teammates. I'll fill you in on that more later, when the casting call date comes up, but in short, I've entered a World Series of Trivia with people I hardly know. Why? I couldn't think of a reason not to. Anyway, casting is April 1. I expect hilarity on many deep and meaningful levels.

Despite missing CT, New York is already feeling like home. I really like my apartment, even though I *still* have boxes to unpack. (This is becoming a task of epic proportions, like Sisyphus with the boulder. Every time I unpack a box, I have to move other things to make room for it, therefore creating new piles of misplaced objects -- but minus the boxes!) The building is a pre-World War II building, which makes for character, somewhat low lighting and possibly lead paint. So when you come to visit, don't lick the walls a lot.

Unlike my last apartment, there is actually heat in this one. There's so much heat that I have to open the windows to make it less ... tropical. G has taken to bringing shorts whenever he comes over and I usually wear a tank top at home. It's that warm. Makes me worry about July.

But I ramble. Here's the thing: I would leave a bunch of windows cracked open to make the apartment more breathable, but the superintendent never put my screens in.

You'd think, hey, a relatively smart girl like me should be able to put in screens. Not so. Apparently these are super high-tech screens created by the government in the '80s so the Soviets couldn't scale the brick walls of my apartment building with their superhuman suction hands, rip off the screens and break through my windows to get all of that uranium that they were storing ... in my future apartment? (Another reason not to lick the walls. Much.) Between G and I, we have three college majors, two minors, a partially finished fourth major and quite a lot of educational debt. None of these things helped. Neither one of us could figure out how to get these screens in. G forced one in, upside-down and backward, I think. Surely, it is not secure enough to keep the suction-handed freaks out.

Until Tuesday, my chums ...

Freestyling

2006-03-10T10:38:00.000-05:00

Overheard:
One morning this week at 42nd Street, I was on the V and lucky enough to have a seat. There was a great rush of people just as the doors were closing. Apparently the train across the platform was stalled, but our conductor wasn't going to keep the doors open for those riders to move over into our train. This inspired one gasping commuter to declare: "I swear, some of these conductors aren't even worth the bullet, man. Aren't even worth the bullet."

Possible Sign of Insanity:
There are a lot of young women in the city with Louis Vuitton bags, distinguished by their distinctive LV designs. Every time I see one of these I start singing Kanye West's "Gold Digger" in my head and it stays there for the rest of the day. "... With a baby Louis Vuitton under her underarm ..." It's one ear worm that won't ever, ever go away!

Subway Factoid:
I've thoroughly researched this in merely a month (cha, right), but there is a narrow zone of perfect passenger-to-seat ratio on the subway. Too many people (rush hour) and you can barely breathe and definitely won't get a seat. Too few (later at night) and you start to get twitchy that maybe you'll be left alone in the car with the guy in the corner who, sure, looks innocent enough in his Armani suit, but could very well be the next Charles Manson. You never know! Maybe I'm paranoid (JP is shaking his head vigorously right now), but better paranoid than someone's tasty dinner, I say.

Neat Tricks:
K has sent me a package, which I cannot pick up until next weekend, since the post office hours are the same as my work hours and I'll be away on Saturday. That's OK, it prolongs the wait and adds to the excitement. (I am bouncing up and down in anticipation of gifts.) But G and SV have the solution to the post office's useless hours: send stuff to yourself at work. Ingenious! Now I can continue my online shopping addiction.

Until Monday, then ...

Hot oil & Leroy

2006-03-09T10:35:00.000-05:00

Several tidbits to address today, as I am really enjoying the feedback I am getting from everyone:

1. Yes, I am saving these emails. I don't know about a book deal, as a few of you have suggested, but maybe my kids will enjoy reading them some day.

2. JP says I am old because I criticize frivolous fashions. I want to clarify: Not all frivolous fashion is up for criticism. I like some of it. Just not the unflattering, blood-tainted kind. Perhaps that's just me. And JP, I believe one of us is 29, and it isn't me ... (kisses!)

3. Welcome newcomers! That would be Andrew, who apparently hasn't dropped off the face of the Earth after all, and my cousin Bob. Congratulations! You've pushed me over my 50 person per email limit, so I'll be sending these out in two batches from now on. You each get a cookie. (And, yes, Andrew, I am really, truly living in New York. More on your other questions later.)

Now onto the very New Yorkiness of it all ...

There is this man. I imagine his name is Leroy, because he could possibly be the baddest man in the whole damn town.

Leroy sings on the subways around the 23rd Street area. I've heard him on the F, the 6 and the R, W, N lines. I'm not 100 percent sure what he looks like, since I am always trying to avoid eye contact -- and the plea for my spare change. To the best of my knowledge he is a black man, likely in his late 50s, early 60s. He's kind of short, wears a tan parka and sings like someone, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe its Eartha Kitt? Maybe Macy Gray? Katherine can probably help me out here: It's raspy and sort of deep. It's not pleasant, but it's not unpleasant either. Sort of an acquired taste. Like corn dogs.

Anyway, the first day I heard Leroy was Valentine's Day. I was on my way back from work and Leroy was on the 6 train, belting out love songs. I assumed this romantic mood was inspired by the holiday.

I was so wrong.

Since Feb. 14 I have heard Leroy sing "Turn Off The Lights" by Teddy Pendergrassat least a half dozen times. You know, it's not the singing that gets to me. It's the lyrics, being sung to every man, woman, man/woman and child from here to 42nd Street.

A sampling:

Let's take a shower, shower together, yeah
I'll wash your body and you'll wash mine, yeah
Rub me down in some hot oils, baby, yeah
And I'll do the same thing to you

Leroy seems to be particularly fond of the hot oils part, since he repeats it at the end of every verse.

Now, I know I can be prudish. But it's just very, very uncomfortable to be in a small, cramped enclosed space with total strangers hearing about hot oils and "sexy moods." Yet another reason not to make eye contact.

So yesterday I was on the platform waiting for a V train and an F train pulls up. The doors open and I hear Leroy's dulcet tones, crooning about -- you guessed it -- hot oils.

It was a good day to ride the V train.

Until Friday, my friends ...

We are the Goon Squad ...

2006-03-08T23:27:00.000-05:00

Today, we talk fashion. It is everywhere in New York, lurking in dark doorways, waiting for the right moment to nab some poor unsuspecting soul and turn her into one of its minions.

This winter the following things are tres chic for New York belles: full-length puffy coats, fur-trimmed coats (both puffed and non-puffed) and giant, puffy, furry boots.

Aside from a widespread secret yearning to be the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man, insanity is the only explanation for this. I can attest to it appearing unattractive. I could even yield if I thought these things were offering warmth that simply could not be found in something non-puffy and non-furred. But we've all met polarfleece. We know the truth. So unless you're looking for a creative, resourceful use for that seal you clubbed for dinner, there's no excuse for sporting pelts.

But I digress ...

Puffy coats: Unless you've got something to hide (50 lbs. of shrimp, say), why would you choose to look like a grown-up kindergartener? You know what I mean. Your mother made you wear that snowsuit or that ridiculous UGLY quilted tan winter coat (yes, I am talking to you, Mother). Sure, when you're cute and young, you can get away with wearing just about anything. Not so much when you're in your 30s.

Fur trim: You know, if you really, really, really want to ensconce yourself in dead animal (and who doesn't?), just go whole hog and get the whole coat. Fur trim is just a waste of life. It's not keeping you any warmer and, frankly, it looks like 70 percent of the women in New York are being mauled by some furred beast. Just in the head region, though. *gestures wildly around head*

The boots: You know, boots are my friends. I hate to taunt them. By unless a vast tribe of Inuit have moved here, I don't understand the presence of giant mukluks everywhere. I doubt they are water-resistant. Most of them sport all sorts of ties and strings. And in a perfect complement to the head maulings, it often looks as if some poor hapless female has stepped on two Tasmanian devils that just ... won't ... let ... go. I hate when that happens.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to spring so there will be an end to the carnage. I hope. But who knows what Fashion will foist upon us then ...

Until Thursday, my pets ...

HEY YOU!

2006-03-07T23:24:00.000-05:00

** WARNING, some language may not be suitable for our sensitive readers. **

Yesterday I was starting to worry that I would run out of things to tell you all about. But when in need, New York provides ...

I was waiting to cross Broadway last night, still a little frazzled from work and a little sleepy from the train ride home. Behind me, I heard a deep voice bark, "Hey you! YOU! Hey you! Yeh, you!"

Initially I ignored whomever it was. There are all sorts of unfortunate souls wandering New York who just blurt things out. It's best not to make eye contact.

"HEY YOU! Help me cross the sidewalk. Yeh, YOU!"

Now I couldn't ignore this, this person was asking for help -- asking in a very throaty New York accent. So imagine my surprise when I turned around to see a petite woman who most certainly would be someone's grandmother, except for that fact that she was so incredibly rude, I doubt anyone would stay with her long enough to conceive offspring. Though I could be wrong ...

"HEY YOU!"

Yes, I say.

"Help me cross the mother-f**king road. So many mother-f**king cars. I can't believe all these mother-f**king cars."

I was too shocked to say anything. I just crossed the road with her, her with her lovely black-and-purple grandma scarf wrapped around her head, me likely looking as if I had just seen Winnie the Pooh go all carnivore on Christopher Robin.

"You live in Queens?"

Yes, I do. Do you?

"You staying in Queens?"

Yes.

"What do you do for work?"

I'm a graphic designer.

"Where do you work?"

Manhattan.

"Where?"

On Sixth Avenue. (I am now starting to worry that this little woman is going to start stalking me.)

"You live in Queens?"

Yes. Do you?

"Why don't you live in Manhattan?"

Oh, well, it is very expensive. But it seems to be where everyone wants to live.

"Are you staying in Queens?"

Yes, I can't afford Manhattan. Do you like Queens?

And just like that, she stopped, glared into a shoe store on Steinway, and suddenly vanished into the store. I can't say I was sad to see her go. I stopped in the grocery store on the way home, just to shake her off my trail if she was tailing me.

Just another day in New York.

P.S. Keyboard Update: After a night to dry, she seems to be back and only a few keys are sticky. Hallelujah and praise be! (Peters sends a link for spill-proof keyboards, if anyone is looking for them.)

Until Wednesday ... HEY YOU!

Death of a Keyboard

2006-03-06T23:21:00.000-05:00

Oh, it is Monday. And it is unpleasant. The weather was pretty nice -- sunny, clear skies. But about halfway through the morning I dumped a large tea all over myself, and my keyboard. The keyboard appears to not have survived the deluge. My coworker did his very best to save it while I raced to dry the monitor base, but I'm afraid we lost the patient. It's an unfortunate casualty, especially since the keyboard another coworker nabbed me from the vacant station has sticky keys. Every time I try to type "p" I get "op." They seem to have molded together.

Add onto this that the office temperature was in negative degrees. I had to put on my coat and was debating whether it would be acceptable to put on my hat.

So in an effort to shake the morning doldrums, I went out to lunch by myself. Everyone in the city seems to go out for lunch. I was among many lone lunchers when I sat down to eat. Last week I brown-bagged and it probably saved me a lot of money. Today I went to Toasties on Seventh between 22nd and 23rd, where a mozzarella sandwich and soup cost me $8.65. The food wasn't really worth it, but it was worth it to get out of the office, eat something warm and just move on to the next part of my day. I also stopped into Duane Reade, a pharmacy like CVS is that is literally on every corner in the city, nearly as prevalent as Starbucks, which is taking over the world as we speak -- but they are doing it with free-trade coffee so it's OK. I replenished my tissue supply, which was wiped out in the Great Tea Spill of 2006. I also bought Twizzlers.

This sugar-fueled frenzy has carried me through the afternoon and now I am just waiting to doublecheck one more assignment before I head home to unpack some more. I'm very close to finishing the kitchen, thanks to G's help this weekend. I am beginning to see light at the end of the tunnel. Then again, that may just be the 6:35 Lack Of Storage Express heading straight for me.

So here are today's lesson: Beware of tea. It is delicious, but it is also a silent killer of keyboards. Consider yourself warned.

Until Tuesday, my friends...

Jaded and loving it

2006-03-03T22:24:00.000-05:00

Greetings friends! Dirt tells me I have already become a jaded New Yorker. Perhaps I have. Though it seems as if it would take more than three weeks to really convert. There are probably classes I have to take.

I'll be off-line for the weekend (still waiting to get cable Internet), so I'll leave you with these few tidbits:

Things I couldn't live without this week:
My polar fleece hat, pulled down over my ears. It makes the walks nearly bearable.
Motrin. All this walking and three flights of stairs to my fourth-floor walkup have caused a few aches.

Noticed:
Tuesday the Empire State Building was lit up green and blue. We conjectured that it was for Mardi Gras. Then on Wednesday it was green, red and white. I can't think of why that would be. Nevertheless, viva Italia!

This week's spiritual moment:
The walk signal hand at 37th street and Broadway in Astoria has stigmata. I kid you not. This is an interesting contrast to the walk signal hand across from CBGB, which has the thumb, middle and ring fingers blocked out to form the "rock on" sign. Or the sign for the devil, depending on who you talk to. At any rate, Jesus is in Astoria. Literally, in a glass box out on a front lawn. I walk by him every morning. He is flanked by vases of fake flowers. Very tasteful. Jesus is the only one hearty enough to last the winter, though. All the other lawn saints are in warmer climes awaiting spring. When the crocuses make their way out, I expect to see the Virgin Mary and a good many St. Francis feeding the birds. Until then, Jesus remains our lone lawn jockey.

Until Monday, stay warm, stay happy and have a great weekend!

In the beginning

2006-03-02T22:19:00.000-05:00

So because I am lazy, because I don't yet have email at home and because I really do want to stay in touch with you all, I am launching "New York Minute," a daily update on things NY and my new life here, as inspired by my friend Keith. So here is your inaugural installment.

Last night I went with some friends to the Cedar Bar, which wasn't bad food-wise or price-wise, so I can recommend this East Village establishment. Over dinner we started talking about the things people do in NY that bug us. My personal pet peeve are The Sudden Stoppers. These are the people who, usually inexplicably, stop in THE MIDDLE OF THE SIDEWALK. Now, in NY there is a lot of pedestrian traffic. A lot. If you find yourself in a situation where you have to stop (you're lost, you're on the phone, you want to look at the Empire State Building), pull over to the side, for Pete's sake! This problem would be solved if humans were all equipped with break lights. Sadly, evolution has not reached that point.

SV laughed when I ranted about the Sudden Stoppers. Apparently she yelled at one the day before Thanksgiving when she was in a real hurry to catch the train back to CT. She says there should be an etiquette book that is required reading for anyone who comes to the city. It's not a bad idea. There's a lot to learn.

T and G shared their pet peeve: When people try to board the subway while they are getting off. The rule here is that you step to the side to let the people off the subway, then you all cram yourselves into the car. The conductor is actually looking out of the car to see that everyone has gotten on before he closes the doors. So the doors are not timed, as you might think they are. G and T said sometimes if someone tries to board while they are exiting, they throw an elbow. Now, these are really nice guys, so you can only imagine how the Early Boarders rile the locals.

Well, that's it for tonight I think. I will tell you more about my coworkers and my life and finding food and all things NYC in the days to come. Hope you are doing well!